


Dream of me (Till we meet again)

by Alexander_Wesker



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (in later chapters), (technically) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce thinks Jeremiah is dead, Dark Bruce Wayne, Dream Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation, Grey!Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah's gift for Bruce was the Wayne Manor and that's the only reason he made the Tunnel, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Poor Bruce cannot even sleep without Jeremiah using that at his advantage, Post- Episode 04 Season 5 Ruin, Seduction to the Dark Side, The Ace Chemical plot won't happen here, canonical fake character death, story but with subtle manipulation thrown into the mix, this story is technically a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Wesker/pseuds/Alexander_Wesker
Summary: Jeremiah is dead, and yet Bruce cannot stop thinking about anddreaming of him.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska & Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 65
Kudos: 70





	1. The First Dream (Sunday)

**Author's Note:**

> For now I've put 7 chapters as the estimated number of chapters of this story, though it could grow.

> “ _I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they've gone through and through me like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind.”_
> 
> _Emily Bronte  
>  Wuthering Heights_
> 
> * * *

_Jeremiah Valeska was dead._

And while Gotham in its apocalyptic decadence breathed a collective sigh of relief, in knowing that one of its greatest menaces had finally bit the dust, Bruce couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Couldn’t shake away that image from his mind. The image of Jeremiah falling, lying on cement gray dust, pale sea-foam green eyes unblinking, emptily staring ahead, deep crimson red expanding on his white coat, pooling thickly under him.

He should have done more than just stop Selina when it was already too late, he should have stopped her before she could stab Jeremiah, or at least before the first few stabs.

Instead he had stayed there, paralyzed, watching as Selina stabbed, and stabbed and stabbed the man that despite himself Bruce still considered a friend, even after everything that he had put him through; _the lies, the betrayal, Alfred’s kidnapping, the fact that he had handed him over to Ra’s and that he had plunged Gotham into darkness and Chaos_. Yet even after all of this, Bruce still cared for Jeremiah.

A part of him telling him that had been the toxin that had made him act this way, Jeremiah wasn’t that cold, cruel being he had ‘met’ at the graveyard, that had been the toxin and Bruce had hoped to find him, cure him.

_And now he was dead._

  
  


Blood pooling under him, eyes unblinking, lying on the cold, dusty ground of a half excavated tunnel.

_Red staining white._

The clatter of the buckles of his coat against the ground resounding in his ears like pearls hitting asphalt.

He had lost him two times, to Jerome’s clever trap and now, to Selina’s vicious knife.

And while he couldn’t still accept the fact that he was gone, once and for all (one Valeska, the one that had been all stage presence and fire, forever sleeping underground and the other, that had been all mind games and destruction, left rotting above.), the city rejoiced for his death.

  
  


That morning, when Bruce laid down to sleep, to get at least a bit of energy back after his patrols, his mind was still filled with pale sea-foam green eyes and blood oozing on gray dust.

  
  


So he wasn’t all that surprised when Jeremiah appeared in his dreams, no, what surprised him was the dream itself.

He felt weightless and hazy, yet strangely solid, around him Wayne Manor’s library with it’s warm tones and… _he hadn’t been home in months. And he missed it so, so much._

It had took him some moments to realize that he wasn’t alone in this dream, that Jeremiah was there too. His appearance a mix of the Jeremiah, Bruce considered his friend, and the Jeremiah that had tried to destroy Gotham to make it his own perfect utopia.

 _He looked like_ Jeremiah _if the toxin had really only altered his physical appearance._

  
Sea-foam green eyes focused on the inked words of the book he was reading, bright and alive not empty and unblinking. Moonlight skin warmed in tone by the soft lighting of the room.

Jeremiah turned the page, still oblivious of the fact that he was being watched.

Bruce let his gaze move from Jeremiah, not by much, still on edge in his presence even though Jeremiah appeared to not have noticed him which he couldn’t really believe, Jeremiah’s eyes never left him, they were always watching, always, glittering with devotion and obsession.

_Jeremiah had looked at him even while shooting Selina._

_Jeremiah had looked at him even when the bridges went up in flames._

_Like he was the only thing he could see, the only thing he would never tire of watching._

Not now though, not in his dream. In his dream, Jeremiah was so absorbed in what he was reading that he didn’t even notice his gaze on him.

Bruce looked at the book, he couldn’t make out what was written on the cover, but that was alright, he was dreaming after all. But he knew that cover, he knew it well because he had intended to gift that book to Jeremiah.

He had wanted to give it to him as a sort of present for their friendship, especially after he had listened to Jeremiah excitedly speak of Gotham’s stratified architecture, of how it was so particular and different from the mainland’s architecture that it was defined as a category of its own.

And Bruce had thought that Jeremiah would have liked a book that talked only of the various styles of Gotham’s Architecture, even if it was a little outdated.

  
  


_He had never had the opportunity to give it to him._

  
  


And now, here in his dream, Jeremiah was reading it.

_A never-given-gift in the hands of a ghost._

  
  


Bruce felt his heart twinge.

Jeremiah’s eyes rose from the page and met his own.

  
  


“Oh, sorry, Bruce.” Jeremiah said, his voice soft and quiet. In a way he hadn’t heard in months, and that made him want to cry.

_Because this Jeremiah was gone._

_Because Jeremiah was dead and would never have the possibility to return as he once was._

  
  


“I didn’t mean to lose myself so much into reading.” he added, “It’s just that it is so interesting. Bruce, did you know that unlike the rest of the cities around it, Gotham’s base architecture is based on pure, antique Gothic, instead of neo-Gothic?”

And Bruce knew it, he remembered listening Jeremiah talk about that during some of his visits and how _‘fascinating he found the fact that Gotham was probably the only city were the pure antique Gothic architecture was still used’_.

Bruce knew it, but when he looked in those sea-foam green eyes, that were twinkling in that excited way, Jeremiah’s emerald eyes always twinkled when he talked about something that interested him, well when he saw that he couldn’t help himself but indulge in his yearning, his desire to have his friend back.

Because, in real life, Jeremiah may had been gone and dead, but here in his dream?  
Even with sea-foam green eyes, instead of emerald eyes, and moonlight skin, _his friend was back_.

“No, I didn’t” Bruce lied, smiling just a bit, feeling his smile widen just a notch when Jeremiah started explaining. His voice soft and alive.

.

  
  


.

  
  


When Bruce woke up, he was in his apartment on the edge of the Green Zone. And when he left his bed to prepare for a new night of patrolling, his heart was full of sorrow.

_And the words of a ghost filling his thoughts._


	2. The Garden Dream (Wednesday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce realizes that his dreams of Jeremiah have quickly become his only source of comfort in the apocalyptic Gotham caused by the bridges fall.  
> Which makes him react quite harshly when Jim makes _one particular comment_.

After that dream, every single morning after that he dreamed of Jeremiah, at first he had been on edge, worried that his dreams would turn into nightmares. That Jeremiah would stop acting like his friend, and act like the being he had become after, the one who only  left destruction in  his wake.

But that didn’t happen, in his dreams Jeremiah remained always soft spoken and sweet, his sea foam green eyes sometimes lingering, not burning with the fire of obsession, but glowing with the light of care.

Without Bruce even realizing his dreams with Jeremiah had started becoming his only source of comfort, the only source of peace and calm that he could find in the darkened city, where everything had turned into a battlefield of gangs and criminals, fighting for power.

And since Jeremiah was…  _gone_ , the Dark Zone had become even more dangerous and chaotic, since the scattered gangs no longer had to fear his presence. Yet even with that, even with the  confirmation that it would have been better that Jeremiah was still alive, scheming yes but at least there to keep his iron grip on the gangs of the Dark Zone, that weren’t otherwise aligned with anyone else, even with that confirmation people were content that he was  _gone_.

Gone forever. Blood on gray dust, sea foam green eyes empty and unblinking…

Bruce clenched his hands in fists, trying to shake the image away from his mind. Trying to focus instead on the image of the Jeremiah in his dreams, alive and well even better than how his real counterpart had been in his last days, because the Jeremiah in Bruce’s dreams was sane and still himself.

But no matter how much he tried the image, that horrible image from four days ago, repeated itself in his mind again and again, as he recalled Selina’s invitation to the celebration the Sirens were organizing for… _Jeremiah’s death_.

_ How could someone celebrate someone else’s death? Yes, everyone had their reason for hating Jeremiah, but to this extent? No, Bruce didn’t think they were justified. _

Jeremiah may had become a ‘monster’ to everyone else but he was still a human being and didn’t deserve for his demise to be considered as a reason to celebrate.

Thinking of this, Bruce remembered what had happened after he received that invitation. He ran, ran far away from Selina who just couldn’t understand – _what had happened to her? Had Ivy’s cure changed her really that much?_ – his shock, and ran, and ran till he had arrived in front of the unfinished Tunnel. The place  had been empty, no followers, and luckily for Bruce, who wasn’t sure of what his reaction would have been if  _he_ had still been there, no body. The only thing that marked where Jeremiah had fallen was a reddish brown stain of dried blood and the slight imprint that his body had left on the immobile dust.

It had been like looking at the negative of a photo. Bruce had remained there till morning came, and until his exhaustion  got the better of him.  
And when he dreamed, he had dreamed of being back at the Library with Jeremiah by his side. In that dream, Jeremiah had been worried and caring and everything that Bruce had needed, which was to be expected since he was just a product of his mind, but it had made him feel better anyway.

The Jeremiah in his dream had hugged him tightly, so tight that it almost seemed real to Bruce, and Bruce had just hugged him back, trying to chase away the thoughts of the Tunnel, of the place where Jeremiah’s real counterpart had took his final breath, in fear that if the thought plagued him too much his dream would have turned into a nightmare.

That Jeremiah’s warmth and the regular beating of his heart, would have been ripped away from him by his own mind. That the man, changed but alive, in his arms would ‘die’ too. That he’d feel his breath stop, his blood stain his hands.

And for just a moment, his dream almost turned into a nightmare, Bruce was sure of that, because the Jeremiah in his arms, the one who was trying to comfort him as best as he could, had winced, a pained gasp leaving his lips, and when Bruce woke, still in the empty building with the Tunnel, he had been sure that he had seen blood on his friend suit.

Luckily the next day, dream had been that,  _a dream_ . And he and Jeremiah had talked and talked, just like they did in Jeremiah’s bunker, before…  _everything_.

Bruce had woken up from that dream, in his apartment, with a slight smile on his lips and Jeremiah’s soft laughter still in his ears. 

And all had been mostly well, till well…  _now_ .

Because as he brought some supplies, he had scavanged during his patrol, to the GCPD so that they could store them, or use them if needed, as he did so he met Jim.

And catching up with the Captain had been mostly pleasant, till the man said: “You look better, Bruce. Guess sleep had been easier since the Valeska is gone.”  
  
And  Bruce  just saw red in hearing those words, because while he knew, hell he knew better than anyone how gone, how unhinged Jeremiah had been, at the same time he couldn’t  bear the idea of being grouped with the same people that saw Jeremiah’s death as a good thing, because he didn’t.

And besides that, even knowing that Jim was referring to the real Jeremiah, Bruce couldn’t stop but think to his friend, the dream counterpart of the being that Gotham appeared to be so happy to have gotten rid of.

“Unlike some _people_ ,”Bruce said, trying to not growl out his words as he would have done with a criminal “I don’t rejoice in the death of someone, even if that someone is Jeremiah Valeska. _Especially if it is him._ ” And he left it at that, he didn’t explain himself any further, instead leaving the district, ignoring the calling of his name by the Captain, going into the Dark Zone to get rid of his anger in a mostly constructive way.

When he returned to his apartment, giving just a barely acceptable, if Alfred’s expression was something to go by, explaination of why he had said what he had said and why he had left the district and the Green Zone with such haste, the sun was already in the sky, probably six or seven in the morning.

And when he went to sleep he hoped to dream of Jeremiah.

  
Surely enough he did.

.

.

Immediately he realized that this dream was different than the others, for one they weren’t in the Library, but in the gardens of the manor, to be exact in his late mother’s rose garden, the sky was clear above his head, and the smell of winter roses and grass was so realistic that Bruce would have  thought that he was really there if it wasn’t that it wasn’t possible.

The second thing that he realized was that Jeremiah was… different from the other dreams, more akin to his more unhinged version in aspect at least, with that blue and black suit, a rose pinned to his lapel, the red stood out from the colder shades of his clothing, his tie a shimmering purple.

Bruce tensed at that. Calling, and praying, to anything that could have been possibly listening to let this too be a dream.

He couldn’t bear to lose Jeremiah once again, not after he had got him back even if in his own mind. 

Jeremiah turned slowly to him, his moonlight skin that almost glowed under the sun, but his eyes, his eyes were as soft and as warm as Bruce remembered from all the other dreams.

“Is something troubling you, Bruce?” Jeremiah asked, voice still soft if a bit closer to the one of the real Jeremiah, the one who had met his end by Selina’s knife, than that of the engineer that Bruce had considered his friend. Yet with the worry in his tone and the fact that he was acting just as he always did in the other dreams, Bruce relaxed.

“It’s nothing important, Jeremiah” he answered, giving him just a small smile to try and appear more sincere.

Jeremiah frowned, if only just. “I wouldn’t say that it isn’t important, if you are  reacting to it like this .”  he said, walking towards him,  a winter rose in his hand, protected from the milky sap by a black glove. “But I wont ask anything more if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Bruce almost nodded, as he thanked him for the rose, it felt so… so  _real_ .  _Even though it wasn’t, was it bad that Bruce didn’t want to wake up from this dreams_ ( _sometimes_ )?

“No, wait. I want to tell you.” Bruce said, as he caressed the velvety petals of the rose, careful to not pluck them out, Jeremiah’s eyes lingered on the flower, on his hand caressing the red rose for just a moment before he met his gaze. 

Bruce took a deep breath, the rose’s smell even more intense thanks to the one he held in his hands. 

“Jeremiah,” he started, stopping after he had said the other’s name, Jeremiah just met his gaze waiting patiently for him to continue on his own time, though he seemed terribly curious of what he wanted to tell him. “You… I… This is a dream. You… you aren’t real, and the real you… the real you is _gone_ , and… and no-one, _no-one understands_ why I’m not happy that you are gone. How could I be? Even with all that you have done to the city, and its citizens… _you didn’t deserve that_! I should be able to mourn my friend without people questioning why I’m not happy he is dead!” 

Bruce didn’t even realize of the tears that where leaving his eyes, just the blurriness of his vision that made it difficult for him to see the expression on Jeremiah’s face.

One moment he was trying to get the reaction that Jeremiah had to his words, and the other he was enveloped in another warm embrace, the rose crushed between them, but Bruce didn’t care, he cared only about Jeremiah. About the fact that he was hugging him, the fact that in his dreams he was so warm and so alive and that he didn’t want to let him go.  
  
“Oh, Bruce” he heard Jeremiah mutter, “Oh, my poor, dear Bruce” he muttered once again as his hug got slightly tighter, his gloved hands drawing comforting circles on his back, as Bruce silently cried against his shoulder.  
  
Jeremiah was the only one he could mourn his real counterpart with, the only one who wouldn’t find it strange.  
  
“I should have stopped her” Bruce whispered in between his tears and choked sobs. “You didn’t deserve that, I… I should have done more. If I had… If I had you’d still be alive.” _And I wouldn’t have this version of you back_ ; Bruce added mentally making himself even sadder at the thought that if the real Jeremiah had been alive, he wouldn’t have this wonderfully bittersweet dreams.

Jeremiah continued whispering comforting, sweet things to him, hugging him tightly.

.

.

Bruce woke up, still crying, in his apartment, with the poison sweet heaviness of the ghost of Jeremiah’s affection weighting his heart.

His eyes fell on the invitation Selina had left him, and new tears started blurring his eyes, making them sting.

_He had to find Ecco_ , he thought,  _he had to find, to talk with, the only other person in Gotham who was mourning Jeremiah as much as him._


	3. The Church of the Dead God (Friday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of the Sirens' celebrations of Jeremiah's demise.  
> Bruce has finally mustered up the courage to go to Jeremiah's Church in the heart of the Dark Zone, and meets Ecco.  
> And with his mind clouded by pain, he makes a decision that _he'll probably regret_.

Tonight was the night of the  _celebration_ .

Not that Bruce would have gone there, no he had one last place to check, in the hopes to find Ecco. The one place that he should have checked first, but that he hadn’t managed to muster up the courage to do so until now.

The  _Church_.

Gotham’s Cathedral that had been stripped of everything holy and turned into the epicenter of the Holy  Grounds of the Mad Demiurge that had destroyed Gotham to remake it in his image, chaos and blood and destruction.

Hell on Earth, cold and uncaring for the suffering of its dwellers.

And even with Jeremiah gone. The Holy  Grounds, as Jeremiah’s territory had been called by his followers, was still untouched, no gang had tried to  seize it for themselves, and arrived there Bruce understood why.

There was something strange there, it was like entering into a different world, a safe heaven of ordered chaos, built on the benediction of blood and madness. Jeremiah’s followers, still high in numbers,  ever growing,  despite the death of their mortal God, walked through the streets,  hushed words said between them over the lights of votive candles, under the forever looking gaze of the painted portraits of their God.  
  
Jeremiah looked like an angel in those, a fallen angel that hid his burned wings, still radiating of light, the light of a never ending explosion that consumed everything till all was cleansed in death and fire.

Bruce continued moving through the Holy  Grounds , intent in reaching the Church.  
Jeremiah’s followers whispered as they saw him, no cutting word or acid anger in their tones, but awe and praise. 

_Saint Bruce the_ _Blinded_ , they called him.

_The Dark Prophet_ , they whispered when they didn’t want to attract his attention.

_God’s Beloved Angel_ , they prayed.  
  
Bruce ignored them all, refusing to let that mark of madness leave signs into his mind. How something so blasphemous sounded oh so right, and true and holy if whispered with enough belief by so many voices.

He reached the Church, the niche, in front of its divided stairs,  was  illuminated by votive candles and offerings of incense, some of which were still burning. The Church itself had its decorated main doors closed, only one of the lateral entrances opened.  
  
Though nobody seemed allowed to enter, besides him apparently. As the followers in front of it let him pass without even doubting.  
  
Bruce didn’t even know why he decided to  enter Jeremiah’s territory like this, why he hadn’t even tried to go through the stealth route, instead entering the Holy Grounds like he belonged there.

Jeremiah’s followers certainly seemed to think he did.

.

.

Inside the Church was all still illuminated by burning candles, the smell of melted wax and incense filled the dimly lit space.  
Light barely managing to dissolve the darkness of the night.  
  
Everything felt… _dead_.

Even deader than the last time he had been here, the empty naves, the silence oppressing barely broken even from the sound from outside and… _chocked sobs?_

Bruce let his eyes leave the portray of Jeremiah shrouded in golden light, that he didn’t even realize he had been staring at.  
  
Someone was kneeling in front of the altar, surrounded by the light of many melting candles.  
  
_Was that Ecco?_  
  


Bruce took a step inside, away from the threshold into the Dead God’s Church, the sound echoing loudly breaking the silence.  
  
The figure, Ecco –who else would be here crying for Jeremiah if not her?–, rose to their feet and whipped around.  
  
“Who dares enter-” She, for now Bruce had all the confirmation he needed, interrupted her threat to that as soon as her gaze fell on him. “Bruce” she whispered, muttered in a tone so soft and so familiar, even though used by another voice, that Bruce felt his heart twinge, and crack.

His eyes leaving Ecco, which he knew he shouldn’t do she was dangerous even more so now that she had lost the man she had devoted her whole life to but he couldn’t stop himself he couldn’t, to return to the  portrait.  
Meeting painted sea-foam green eyes, so cold, so  _empty_ …

_Jeremiah hadn’t deserved that.  
To die like that. Gutted like a slaughtered animal.  
  
Even with all he had done, he didn’t-_

“Oh, you poor, little thing” Ecco cooed, she was so close, how had she got so close without-… no, it was him that had got close to her. _Had he walked to the altar without realizing it?_

She looked at him with compassion and  understanding, her eyes reddened by the tears, that had smeared her make-up making her look like Mary crying black tinted blood.

She moved to the side, if just, to let him stand in front of the altar, under Jeremiah’s painted gaze. 

“I’m sorry” he whispered, he wasn’t sure if to Ecco or to Jeremiah, like a sinner confessing in hopes to get absolution for their sins. “I… should have done more. I’m sorry.”  
  
Ecco put her hand on his shoulder, Bruce didn’t move away his eyes still fixed on Jeremiah’s painted ones. “Oh, dear” she said, low as if to not disturb the silence “He would never keep you at fault for what _she_ did.”

Bruce moved, slowly, his gaze from the portrait to Ecco, there was no anger directed at him in her eyes, that were so soft, if filled with the same pain and suffering that had been filling him in these last week. “But… it is. My fault, if I hadn’t-” Bruce stopped, his eyes widening horrified at the words that were going to leave his lips, the words ‘ _If I hadn’t found a cure for her_ ’ burning on his tongue like acid.

He had had to help Selina. She couldn’t have continued living in the state Jeremiah’s shot had left her.  He had to help her, he couldn’t have left her like that, than why… why had he thought those terrible words?

Why had he…?  
  
“Shh, none of that, dear.” Ecco whispered, her voice, her honey sweet tone seeped in between his guilty thoughts. “Her actions are not yours. You tried to stop her, when I wasn’t there, you stepped in to try and save him.”  
  
“What good it did? I was late… I was late, too late.” he said back, bitterness filling his voice “I can always only watch when the people I care for are taken away fro me… I always just watch…. All my training, useless… what does it matter if I can’t use it when I need to?” he asked, not even waiting for an answer. 

It was too much.

  
_This had been a wrong decision. To come here._

_ To seek her.  
  
He couldn’t bear the weight of that painted gaze any longer. _

_ Guilt weighting in his chest.  _

_ For those words he had only thought, for not having done a thing that night oh so long ago, and then again when the man who he still saw as a friend was being stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. _

_ His blood was on his hands. _

_ He may as well have been the one whose hands were on the knife. _

_ Blood, vibrant red, flowing, flowing warm then thickened and cold… _

_ Sea-foam eyes empty, vacantly staring ahead. _

Bruce was only half-aware of the chocked half formed apologies that were leaving his mouth, even more distantly aware of Ecco, hugging him… _crying with him?_ , he only,  barely, hear stifled sounds,  _like sobs? Of course what else could that be?_

Only Ecco could understand what he was going through, only her wouldn’t have judged him.

Only her and the Jeremiah of his dreams.

The Jeremiah who was alive and well, and talked to him like they were still friends, the Jeremiah who hugged him and whispered sweet, comforting words into his ear as he cried and cried for a man that was hated by all.

The Jeremiah who had given him a rose, and advice. Or amiable silence filled with soft smiles when he didn’t want to talk.  
  
_Never asking, never demanding._

Jeremiah who wanted from him nothing more than what he was ready to give. Who never pushed him, if not to help him realize things he already knew.

_ Jeremiah. Jeremiah. Jeremiah. _

His name filling his thoughts, _he needed him_. Bruce needed him to tell him that everything was going to be alright. 

_ But no matter how much he wished, he was gone. _

_Gone_.

And people were celebrating his death, while Bruce felt like his heart had been ripped clean out of his chest.

“Ecco” Bruce said, as his silent tears came to a halt, in his eyes a burning light. 

Ecco stepped back, but keeping her hands on his shoulders, Bruce was grateful for that. To have the comfort of someone real, and there. Someone who understood what he was feeling.

“There is a celebration going on in the Sirens’ turf” he said, his voice surprisingly steady, his heart still bleeding and cracking, and he needed Jeremiah to tell him that everything was okay, but he wasn’t there, and hurt was filling his mind.

Ecco cocked her head to the side “A celebration, huh? For what?” she asked, she’d have probably figured it out normally, but there was nothing normal in this situation.

_ Because Jeremiah was dead, and those people were celebrating it. _

“They are celebrating Jeremiah’s…” Bruce stopped, the word failing to leave his throat, not now, it had been easier to say it as he was snapping against the Captain that it was saying it now, out loud in reality in the heart of Jeremiah's own Church, under the painted gaze of his effigy, making it… _even realer_ that it already was. He tried again, even though from the anger in Ecco’s eyes it was clear she had understood. “They are celebrating Jeremiah’s death”

Ecco let her hands fall away from his shoulders, so to not accidentally harm him, anger burning, burning, _burning_ where before there had been pain that reflected his own. Gone was the Crying Mary substituted by a Vengeful Angel.

And as he followed her out of the Church and back into the Holy Grounds…

_Bruce didn’t feel a trace of guilt_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason this chapter was uploaded so late is because I have way to many headcanons about Jeremiah's territory(or the Holy Grounds as I call it) and I had to make a conscious effort to not just dump a bunch of them in this chapter.


	4. Please be there for me; I need you (Friday night pt.2; Saturday Morning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce remains with the Cult as they start planning what could as well be the start of a bloody War, and yet, he can't bring himself to care about that. His mind still clouded by a sense of loss and pain.

Every one of the big territories in the Dark Zone had their specific main resource. 

  
  
The City Hall, Penguin’s domain, had the weapons.

The  Demon’s Lounge, the Sirens’ turf, had the ammunition.

The Wayne Enterprises’ laboratories, Dr. Freeze’s reign, had the chemicals and some of the more perishable kind of foods.

Hell’s Factory, Firefly’s territory, had the explosives, all the incendiary explosives a pyromaniac could dream of.

The Crow’s Maze, Scarecrow’s dominion, in the outskirts of Gotham, had the freshest rations, food directly grown into his lands, his scythe sometimes put to its original use instead of used to cut heads, and the best chemical weapons.

Distantly, Bruce had been aware that the Holy Grounds’ main resource had been manpower, people, but he hadn’t realized the full extent of what that meant till now.

‘Till the moment, Ecco, all vengeance and anger, had ordered for the Church’s bell to be rung. The sound potent and solemn, a call of war, ringing from the heart of the Dark Zone. Making Jeremiah’s followers near the center of the Holy Grounds and making the others scatter like cockroaches exposed to light.

It was incredible to see so many people, a sea dressed in whites and blacks. It was incredible to realize that every each one of those people had passed Jeremiah’s test of faith, had been baptized by the blood of those less fortunate than them, those that had felt the bite of the bullet instead of the click of absolution.

Some of them, those that were on the first lines of the group, had accents of red on their clothes and donned a white featureless mask, like that of the Mummer. Those, if Bruce remembered correctly from what he had overheard when scouting through Jeremiah’s territory –before his death–, were the Blessed, or Kissed, those that had felt the bite of the bullet but just like Ecco had come out of the ordeal.

They were the high ranked zealots, those that listened directly to Ecco’s voice, and brought her teachings, His words, onto the mass.

Ecco, black tears on her face and voice shaking with anger, faced the silent crowd, that was waiting with clasped hands. “The Prophet has cometh” she proclaimed, voice loud and clear if anger-filled. Bruce focused on her to not fidget under those awestruck, worshiping eyes, that looked at him like he was the source of light, or maybe soothing Darkness, the right  dichotomy to Jeremiah’s destructive light. “And he has brought word of the  disbelievers up North, mocking His Ascension.”  
  
Gasps of surprise, and offense left the silent crowd as anger started to raise among the lines, the Kissed bowed their heads and started praying, asking for His concession to slaughter the disbelievers in His Name.  
  
And it was then that reality struck Bruce. That he realized that he had  informed Jeremiah’s killer Cult, that he had just signed for the start of a bloodbath, because the Cult wouldn’t have stopped until all was drenched in red in vengeance for their fallen God. Because they may had had the numbers and the zeal but they didn’t have the weapons to match the Sirens. 

And Bruce didn’t want to have the blood of Jeremiah’s followers on his hands to, like he had Jeremiah’s. He may not have been the one who had plunged the knife into his flesh, but he was the reason why that had happened.

Of course he couldn’t have left Selina in that state, but he should have done more, stayed more by her side, he should have stopped her, not left her to her own devices till the moment she killed the one person that even if with anger had made him feel alive again. Not that he felt angry at Jeremiah anymore.

Continuing to be angry at someone that no longer drew breath was futile, especially now that he realized that most of that anger had been caused by how much he still cared for him.

Jeremiah had been right, of course, he was almost always right. He had been wrong on one thing only, it hadn’t been the fire of the Bridges that opened his eyes, but watching helplessly as Jeremiah gasped, chocked on his own blood. That had been the event that opened his eyes. 

Though it took him a while to realize that, or maybe to accept his realization. And it had still been Jeremiah, if only in his mind,(a beautiful dream that smelled of sun and roses, and felt like the warmth of a friendship that had been cut much too short), that had once again helped him realize the truth.

Bruce was brought back to reality by the chanting of the name that filled all of his thoughts, an angelic choir with a demonic intention. 

_ He should stop them. _

_ He shouldn’t let them leave the Holy Grounds with blood-thirst in their every thought. _

_He should say something, go against Ecco’s orders. They’d listen to him, he had the certainty they would, as they saw him as Jeremiah’s Angel. And an_ _Angel’s_ _word was way more important than a_ _mortal’s_ _one._

_ He should. _

_ He should, he knew he should. His mind yelling at him to do something, to say something, to stop this madness. _

_. _

_. _

_ He didn’t. _

His thoughts drowned out by the words he imagined Jeremiah would purr in his ear as he hugged him tight.

This, all of this was wrong, and Bruce couldn’t bring himself to care.

Whatever Ecco and Jeremiah’s followers were going to do, it wasn’t his fault. The Sirens had decided to celebrate Jeremiah’s demise like it was an occasion to be joyful of, he had just made Ecco aware of the fact.

_ Selina shouldn’t have invited him.  _

_ Not to a party for someone’s death, for his dear friend’s death. _

_ Not after she had been the one who stabbed him again and again, and again. _

_  
Jeremiah hadn’t even tried to defend himself, too shocked to react. _

_ Selina had her reason to hate Jeremiah, but what she had done wasn’t justified.  _

_ Murder was not justified.  _

_ And feeling like a hero because she had killed a man, because she had killed  _ Jeremiah _. _

_ That was even less justified. _

_ He didn’t deserve that. _

_ He should have been here, with Ecco, with  _ him _ , basking in the glory of being worshiped as a God of flesh and blood. _

_ Bruce should have been able to look into his eyes and see the same life and warmth he had in his dreams, and not to have to meet blank painted gazes. _

_ Bruce should have the opportunity to hug him and tell him he forgave him, and then hug him some more and never let him go. _

_ But he couldn’t, because Jeremiah was dead. Dead. _

_ And he really wanted this to not be true. _

“Jeremiah” he whispered, his voice lost under the chanting of the crowd of angry followers that wanted just to rip those who had wronged their God to shreds.

The Kissed, those that where closer to him, to Ecco, heard his whisper and rose their heads, hand still clasped, their silent praying interrupted in favor of joining the chanting, taking Bruce’s whisper as the answer to their prayers.

To them that whisper meant that Jeremiah had spoken, that He had given them His Blessing.

Blood would flow, and once again, _Bruce couldn’t bring himself to care for the lives of those that were celebrating death._

* * *

After that Ecco and the Kissed had started planning, planning the best way to attack the Sirens. Their Brothers and Sisters in faith ready to die if that was asked of them, but they didn’t want to waste too many lives, they may have been expendable, but not to be used as cannon fodder.  
  
Bruce had been there, he had every right to, as the Prophet, as Jeremiah’s Angel, and even if he didn’t really give much input, the Kissed saw his presence as all they needed to work better, plan better, to impress him and with him Jeremiah.

He looked up, up to Jeremiah’s portrait, this one a little smaller than that in the Church, though still just as beautiful even though Bruce felt his heart crack and break just a little bit more every time he met those painted eyes. 

Jeremiah’s eyes were never that cold, never that empty, he was always too fiery, too…  _in love_ , to be that cold.

Bruce would have sold his soul if that meant that he could see those eyes looking at him once again with that longing, with the warmth of  _love_ … _why had he thought it was obsession?_ It was love, pure and simple love.

Bitterly, Bruce thought that Jeremiah’s followers were more than right when they called him ‘The Blinded’ because that’s what he had been,  _blind_. So blinded by his pain from the betrayal, from the lies(though Jeremiah had never actually lied to him, just omitted some details but never outright lied), all things that now felt almost…  _inconsequential_. 

Bruce was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even realize when his exhaustion started having the best of him. As he closed his eyes, for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of metallic, glittery blue like the suit Jeremiah had started wearing in his wonderfully bittersweet dreams, but before he could think more of it, he had already dozed off.

.

.

.

In his dream he was still in the planning room of Jeremiah’s stronghold, a building near the Church, only that the room was illuminated by the first rays of sunlight, and Ecco and the Kissed weren’t there. 

Though that was quickly forgot in favor of the presence he had been needing the entire night, Jeremiah.

Jeremiah was there in his black and blue glittery suit, the metallic purple tie substituted by a viridian green shimmering tie and the red rose by one that was more burgundy in shade. That brought a little smile to Bruce’s lips, even in his dreams, Jeremiah was just as vain as he had been in life. 

And while that once could have been almost irritating, now, it was almost endearing, just like the focused expression the other had as he scanned the plans.

Bruce knew that in the haze of the dreams he couldn’t read so he didn’t even try, instead deciding to remind to his friends of his presence.

“Something is wrong with the plan?” he asked, almost jokingly, not bothering to try and hide his smile. 

“Hm?” Jeremiah’s eyes rose to meet his own, pale sea-foam green alive and warm and otherworldly beautiful, especially now that the rising sun was giving them a slightly golden tint. “Oh, no, no, it is quite good, though I’d expect it to be since you and my dear Ecco, both, have been working on it.”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve done much, only watched mostly. Ecco and your followers have been doing all the work.” Bruce said, slipping easily in the scene that his brain was conjuring up, he and Jeremiah discussing of the plan together. _How he wished that this was real…_

“It is, Bruce.” Jeremiah said, pronouncing his name as if it was the sweetest word that had ever left his lips, as if he had to savor every single letter. Bruce didn’t find that as disconcerting as he once did.

His expression had to have shown his confusion, because Jeremiah chuckled, almost giggled really, another thing that he would have found unsettling once before the dreams, before he had lost Jeremiah for the third and last time,  now it made him smile just a little bit broader.

“You said that ‘you wished this was real’, it is, Bruce dear.” 

This was starting to be a theme in his dreams, since after the dream in the Garden, that Bruce would say something, remind himself that this was a dream, and Jeremiah reassured him that it was not, that it was real.

“I really wish that was true” he said, his tone bittersweet just like the smile on his lips.

Jeremiah sighed, as he always did when he answered like that to his reassurances, and went around the table on which were the maps marked for the plan, till he was in front of him. “What can I do to convince you, Bruce?”

Bruce smiled, of those smiles that hid tears behind them. “ I don’t know… maybe, be there with me when I wake up?” he asked, knowing that his wish was impossible. 

For how much he dreamed, for how much he wished, Jeremiah was still gone in the real world.

Without really thinking, Bruce leaned closer to Jeremiah, cupping Jeremiah’s face with one hand, startling the other for just a moment, as he had never been the one to start anything, Jeremiah always made the first move but not this time…

Jeremiah leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. “I will” he murmured, his voice low and barely above a whisper. “I will be there.” 

“But will you really?” Bruce couldn’t stop himself from asking, basking in the sensation of Jeremiah’s warmth.

Jeremiah didn’t answer, instead half-nodding, half-rubbing his cheek against his hand like a cat wanting to be pet. It was almost cute. 

And almost made him curious if he needed this just as much as Bruce himself did, probably.

It was his dream after all, for how uncannily similar to how the real Jeremiah would have been, he was still just how he view him, and if Bruce needed him, it wasn’t such a leap to believe that the Jeremiah in his dream needed his comfort just as much as he did.

“Come here, ‘Miah” he whispered moving away his hand, Jeremiah took only half an instant to realize his invite, before settling on the couch near him, facing him. His eyes bright and alive and beautiful.

Bruce moved too to face him, though the haze of his dream made it much more difficult than it should have. 

“I’ll be there” Jeremiah whispered softly, seemingly stopping himself from leaning into him, Bruce wouldn’t have minded all that much. “I’ll be there, it’s the least I can do, when you are starting a war for me.”  
  
“I-” Bruce stopped, _he really couldn’t contest that now, could he? He had told Ecco of the Sirens’ celebration, and he hadn’t tried to stop her, instead overlooking the planning, without even trying to find a way to sabotage their plan_. “I guess I am. I… couldn’t bear to know that they were celebrating your… demise” 

“Oh, Bruce, my sweet, darling Bruce. Knowing that has been eating at you, hasn’t it?” Jeremiah asked, Bruce nodded, leaning towards Jeremiah as he started doing the same. “Shh, my sweet Angel, it’s alright. _They’ll pay._ ” 

Bruce brought his hands to rest over Jeremiah’s chest, the beating of his heart, oh, so comforting, feeling so real that Bruce could almost believe it was. The other's words not even disturbing him as they should have. He knew, he shouldn’t be alright with that, with the almost evil smile that was bending Jeremiah’s red lips, but he couldn't bring himself to care because Jeremiah was there, and he felt real and alive and beautiful and so, so close. “Promise me you’ll be there when I wake up. Promise me. Please,  _Jeremiah_ …” 

Jeremiah leaned even closer, the smile on his lips softening. “I’ll be there. I  _promise_.”  
  
_Jeremiah’s lips were just as soft as they appeared to be._


	5. All gods are reborn with a boon of promised blood (Saturday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds, Jeremiah is back, just as he promised Bruce.   
> How will Bruce react? Is he too enveloped in Jeremiah's manipulations or will he see the darkness lurking behind the other's gaze?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for having posted this a day later than the normal scheduling!   
> But the site wouldn't work with me (as in the entire chapter wouldn't get formatted right)

As night fell Bruce started to wake up, slowly, feeling still enveloped in the hazy warmth of his last dream. The memory of that dreamed, imagined kiss still a focal point of his thoughts.

He was like a prince in a fable, only that the true love kiss wasn’t to wake him up, but, hopefully, to let him stay in his perfect, bittersweet dreams.

But  despite his best hopes ( _and how sad was_ that _that he hoped to never have to wake up, his dreams a better reality than what awaited him in the real world_ ), the haziness was starting to fade, and Bruce was beginning to feel the last remains of the dreams let him go, back into the dark, cold reality. Of him alone, in the heart of Jeremiah’s territory, planning a war with his followers to avenge his death.

_ What he was doing was wrong, and he knew it, but at the same time he wouldn’t stop this. No he wouldn’t. _

_The Sirens had brought this on themselves._

_They had._

_They had._ And he continued repeating that to himself, because if he didn’t, he was worried that he might have started feeling guilty.

As he became more and more aware  finally leaving behind the haziness of sleep , he realized that someone was stroking his hair. Instinctively he stilled, alert, worried, his blood starting to  rush as he prepared to  dash away .

“You are safe, Bruce.” said a painfully familiar voice, all soft and comforting as it was in his dreams, his fingers still carding through his hair.

_Was he still dreaming?  
  
He had to be._

.

Bruce opened his eyes. Blue meeting pale sea-foam green, bright and alive, that were staring at him from above, since he was lying on the couch, his head resting on Jeremiah’s lap.

“Am I still dreaming?” he found himself asking, making no move to get away from Jeremiah, from his warmth, his hand still caressing his hair, making Bruce feel safe and warm, warding away the thought of loneliness.

Jeremiah’s lips curved up in a slight smile, before a soft, little chuckle left them. “Have you been dreaming of me, Bruce?” he asked, voice soft and eyes bright, and warm with love, love, _love,_ something deep in Bruce’s mind, buried under the need for Jeremiah’s company that his dreams had instilled in him, whispered that that wasn’t love, that it was something deeper, more dangerous, the sweet honey of a Venus flytrap, Bruce ignored the whisper.

“You know I have” Bruce whispered in answer, forcing his eyes to stay open, not wanting to miss not even a bit of this dream. _Why did he feel like this? Was it even possible to fall asleep inside a dream?_ “You have been in every each one of them since… _then_.” he added, his voice fading on the last part unable to say it out loud, even if in a whisper. 

After all how could he talk of  _that_ , when Jeremiah was there, with him. Looking, feeling so alive that Bruce could almost think that his death had been just  a horrible nightmare.

For just a moment the smile on Jeremiah’s lips turned almost sinister, too satisfied with himself, like this was what he wanted, to see him suffer for his absence, then it was gone, under another soft, honey-sweet smile, eyes burning with devotion and sadness.

With the halo of moonlight over his deep forest green hair, Jeremiah looked every bit like the God his followers believed him to be. A god that was bestowing him with his never-ending love and worship.

“Oh, Bruce, my sweet, dear Bruce, I’m sorry I made you wait so much” he said, his tone as sweet as honey and the smell of roses, and sincere like the crystal clear waters of a lake that let one peer till the deepest depth. 

Bruce gifted him a smile. “Wait? You’ve been here every day. I… just wish this was real.”   
  
Jeremiah frowned. “You think it isn’t, Bruce?”

“Of course it isn’t, it cannot be, though I wish it could.”   
  
Jeremiah stopped caressing his hair. “This is real, my dear. Can’t you tell?” he asked, worried. His hands, now on his shoulders, as he helped him sit upright on the couch, this time moving wasn’t as slow and difficult as it had been before, his eyes fixed in his searching, searching worringly. 

It warmed his heart to see Jeremiah care so much for him, and at the same time it pained him, because he didn’t want his dreams to become bitter, like reality had been.

“My dreams of you seem so real, ‘Miah. And even though this seems the realest of them all, I know it cannot be real.” he said, and at the same time hoped Jeremiah would let this argument fall, as he always did. He didn’t want for his only comfort to turn into something else.

“I’m not dead, Bruce” Jeremiah said, his voice steady, his hands on his shoulders felt just as real as Ecco’s had been yesterday. _But this couldn’t be real right?_ “ _She_ didn’t kill me. _She failed_.” he added, his voice getting colder and colder, a hind of mocking as he pronounced those last two words. And the Jeremiah in his dreams had always been just soft and calm, this anger, this –albeit justified– hatred was so unlike the Jeremiah of his dreams but so in line with the real one. 

The one that… was dead? 

“I saw you die, I saw the light leave your eyes.” Bruce said back, vision getting blurry but not enough to not let him see Jeremiah.

“Did you, Bruce? Thirteen stab wounds would be enough to put anyone into shock, Bruce. I wasn’t dead just… _incapacitated_.” 

Dreams only knew what you knew, Bruce thought, and he didn’t knew how many times Jeremiah had been stabbed by Selina, of course, it still could be his brain try to trick him into believing this as reality,  but… t _ill now his dreams had never confronted that moment, Jeremiah had never confronted him on that, always acting as if it hadn’t happened… so maybe… maybe this_ really was  _real_ .

“Jeremiah, is… are you… _is this real?_ ” he asked, his voice barely audible, but Jeremiah was so close, always listening so intently to him, that he heard him anyway.

Jeremiah smiled soft, like in Bruce’s dreams but not exactly, there wasn’t any haziness to soften the pure, burning devotion-love-obsession that burned in his sea-foam green eyes. “It is. I’m here, Bruce. I’m here.” 

And despite himself, Bruce believed him, and without any warnings, hugged him, maybe  too quickly, maybe  too harshly, Jeremiah let out a low hiss of pain, but didn’t let him  back away when he tried.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” he reassured him, holding him just as tightly as he did in Bruce’s dreams, muttering soft words in his ear, to calm him down, as he continued to apologize for not having done more and ‘please don’t leave me’ and ‘I forgive you, please stay with me’ that got all mixed up together.

Unknown by Bruce, that couldn’t see him, as he had his face hidden against the other’s shoulder, Jeremiah was smiling as he comforted him. Smiling because finally Bruce understood how he felt, how much he had needed him for all this time since the day the bridges fell and Bruce left with his ‘friends’. But now his angel was there in his arms, crying for him  to stay, for him to never leave his side . 

Now, Bruce  _understood_ and  _Jeremiah was overjoyed by that_ .

As he had told him once, ‘one day he’d understand that he and him were meant to be together, that they were the same.’. And now Bruce’s eyes were open, and he saw how much Jeremiah loved him, and he had accepted how much he loved Jeremiah.

_ Perfect. _

_ All was perfect. _

Bruce was by his side, and Ecco, his dear Ecco, wonderful Ecco, the perfect actress that she had been, was finishing up the planning for their attack.

He and his darling angel were about to take over the Dark Zone, one territory at a time, and Jeremiah couldn’t wait to see the expression on Selina, the bitch’s face as Bruce walked in the Sirens’ turf, by his side.

_ Oh, he couldn’t wait. _


	6. Dying Sirens don’t sing, they shriek (Sunday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The celebration may be concluded, but the Sirens have Hell to pay for they have wronged the Dark Zone’s God.  
> And the Green Zone can only watch as the Holy Grounds, like a blasphemous infection, expand to their doorstep.

_Bruce was starting to have doubts._

Now that the grief, the pain  were starting to lessen, more and more the more he stayed in Jeremiah’s presence, doubts and guilt were making their presence known. At first they had been just whispers in the back of his mind, mostly drowned out by Jeremiah’s voice, but now… Bruce couldn’t ignore them anymore.

Jeremiah was here, he was alive. _There was no reason to attack the Sirens, right?_

_But then, they didn’t know. They had celebrated his death, they didn’t know he wasn’t actually dead._

“Is something bothering you, Bruce?”

Bruce raised his eyes from his cup – he hadn’t had coffee in almost four month now, the Green Zone didn’t have any, it wasn’t a necessity so they didn’t bother to take it during their runs to gather supplies; the Holy Grounds as Bruce was starting to get by now, worked differently, they didn’t only gather  essential supplies, but also all that the other territories would consider luxury. To keep their God content, and since he was Jeremiah’s Angel, he also fell into the category of those to be kept content.–, to meet Jeremiah’s. Even with the plans and notes in front of him, his eyes never strayed to far away from him.

He was always watching, always keeping his gaze upon him, as if he couldn’t have enough, as if he was the only thing that mattered to Jeremiah. _Him and only him._

A part of Bruce was sure that he should have been  creeped out  by it, but mostly he felt almost comforted by it, because if Jeremiah was looking at him, that meant that he was fine, that he really was there. 

That Bruce hadn’t gone completely mad and started hallucinating, which he had honestly suspected for a bit, after he woke up with Jeremiah caressing his hair.

Now that fear was… _mostly gone_. If just because Ecco seemed to see him too, and so did the followers, still Bruce had a slight lingering fear that they were only going along his delusions. 

Jeremiah was still looking at him, an eyebrow arched in confusion, and Bruce realized that he still hadn’t answered Jeremiah’s question. He blushed slightly and looked away.

“Not… exactly” he answered, not knowing how to… put in words what he was feeling so to not offend, or set off Jeremiah, he didn’t want to lose that easy, relaxed feeling that was between them. Didn’t want to build, again, a wall between them, not when it had took Jeremiah’s apparent death to destroy the wall that he had put to not feel hurt by his friend's change. 

Not that Jeremiah had changed all that much, in retrospective. He was still the same, though to an extreme. And Bruce, despite himself, had accepted that change.

“You don’t seem too sure, Bruce.” Jeremiah said, not bothering anymore to pretend to be interested in the notes and the plans in front of him, after all Ecco had done a good job there wasn’t that much to check. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

The whispered prayers around them, from the few Kissed that were standing guard around the windows – not that someone would be stupid enough to attack the Mad Demiurge of Gotham right in the heart of his domain, but one couldn’t be sure enough. (Bruce, even if he knew was wrong, had almost been glad to see that Jeremiah’s paranoia hadn’t disappeared completely, making him the more sure that Jeremiah hadn’t changed much)–, stopped. Evidently even they were worried that their Angel thought something was wrong.

Jeremiah didn’t pay any mind to them, his attention only on Bruce.

“Not really. It’s just that… do we have to… attack the Sirens?” he asked, his gaze for a moment went to the Kissed, their face hidden behind masks, he knew they wouldn’t say anything against him, _they wouldn’t dare_ , still he searched for a reaction. There was nothing in their posture that indicated disappointment or anger. Then his gaze went back to Jeremiah, who had yet to react, he too seemed quite unaffected but one could never really know with him.

“Are you having second thoughts, Bruce?” Jeremiah asked, his voice nor disappointed nor angry, but flat. That made Bruce feel more guilty than any form of anger or disappointment could have.

“No” he answered immediately. “It’s just that… ‘Miah, I was… we were going to avenge _you_.”

A slight smile curved Jeremiah’s lips, Bruce started to relax at that. “But there is no need to avenge me as I am here, alive and…  _well_ , mostly well.”

Bruce nodded.

Jeremiah gave a half-nod himself before his smile disappeared. “The Sirens don’t know this, though, do they?” he said. “They were, probably still are, celebrating my death, Bruce. I know you don’t wont to hurt people if it is unnecessary, but, think of this, my dear, they think I’m dead, and they are  _partying_ for that. Do you think they are right in doing so?”

“No, they aren’t. Just because they… _hate_ you, that doesn’t make what they are doing justified.” 

Jeremiah smiled once again. All sweet and victorious, satisfied like a king that had won a war. No, not a king, kings bowed to Gods, and _Jeremiah bowed to no-one_ . A God, then, like a vengeful God who was pleased to see his Angel seeing the reasons behind his plans. “Exactly, Bruce.” he said. “Now, lets go back to our planning, shall we? I think I’ve an idea on how to breach the Sirens guard with minimal losses…”  


The Kissed returned to their whispered prayers. And Bruce went back to listening to Jeremiah, helping him define the best course of action, the last adjustments before the attack that was going to happen in a few hours.

A small shushed part of his mind, whispering to him that he was as the foolish human, in legends, that had accepted the food of a fae. 

.

.

It had took not even half an hour for the Soothsayers, the Undead and the Street Demons to answer the call to the Church, neither of them, despite their differences and the fact that their leaders wanted to see each others dead, wanted to anger the Church of Jeremiah Valeska, even if the man was dead… or so they had believed.

It took a little more than that for the rest of the gangs, even those that had ‘swore loyalty’ to the Penguin, to arrive.

Immediately the gangs reunited in the Holy Grounds realized something was different. 

The zealots of Jeremiah Valeska were no longer roaming the streets with their head bowed in penitence, for their perceived failure in protecting their beloved God. The whispered prayers, though, were still there. 

A few of the Kissed showed them the way to the Church, the unease grew and grew in the gangs as they were guided towards the heart of the Holy Grounds, too deep in the Valeska’s territory if they ever had the need to escape. 

The Mummer, or the Angel of Vengeance or the Voice of God (depending on the voices one listened to, really) was waiting for them with open arms, in front of the Church.

The gangs felt like animals lead to slaughter or a school of fishes surrounded by  a pod of orcas. 

The bells ringed three times, then one more. As the Mummer started speaking: “We welcome you in our home, friends of ours. The time has cometh for you to show your faith in Him!” 

The prayers around them grew in volume, the chant of one name only filling the air, making the men and women of the gangs feel uneasy, scared.  _In what kind of mess had they got themselves into? What that even meant?_

_Show their faith? How? Why?_

“The Unbelievers grew bold during His Absence, but no more! He has heard our Prayers, and Returned back to us!” She exclaimed, the followers chanted His name with even more certainty, a choir of elated voices. “The Unbelievers will pay for their affront. And they will pay tonight as this is His Will!” 

Most of the gang members had been rendered speechless by what was happening around them, but then the new leader of the Street Demons spoke up, fearless or maybe too stupid to understand the danger they were in,: “You called us here to fight for a dead man? As if-” 

Silence fell around them, so sudden and unexpected that even the fearless idiot stopped talking.

“A dead man, you say?” said a voice, unmistakable even to those that had heard it one time only. A ghost walked out of the Mummer’s shadow, dressed in a long white coat still stained in blood, a bloodied shirt barely visible from under the collar of the coat, vivid, unnatural eyes looking down at them from a deadly white face, blood tinted lips curved in a barely there frown. “ _O ye of little faith_ , did you really think _I_ could die?”

To answer him was only silence, astonished expressions on the faces of the gang members in front of him, as his followers bowed their head in respect, clasping their hands in front of them. The Mummer did the same. 

“H-How is...how is this even…?” babbled the fearless idiot.

With blood tinted lips now smiling, Jeremiah Valeska, alive once again (as his brother had once done), chuckled, the sound expanding in the silence cold and frightening.

Many of the gangs present shivered at the sound. 

“It is really, quite simple.” Jeremiah answered poised and calm, cold as the night breeze that was freezing them to the bone. “I can’t die. Mortals can, I’m no mortal, haven’t you being listening?” he asked, his voice tinted with a hint of mocking.

“This is… impossible.” the idiot whispered, but with the silence around them it was as if he had shouted it. 

A flash of movement and Jeremiah Valeska was pointing his gun at the man, but before he could shoot a literal piece of Darkness left the Church and moved to Jeremiah’s side, a gloved hand on the God’s wrist. Jeremiah didn’t shoot and instead turned his face a bit to the side to look at the Shadow.

Jeremiah smiled, all sweet and terrifying, eyes that under the starlight appeared to be glowing. “It is necessary, my Angel” he whispered.

And then.  _Bang_ .

The fearless idiot fell down hands clamping around his own neck, blood filtered from between his fingers, as he chocked on his own blood. 

_  
No-one made a move to help him.  _

The Shadow by the side of the God, let his hand fall away from the deity wrist. 

Jeremiah Valeska faced them once again,  _and wasn’t that terrifying that he could be that accurate in shooting someone even without looking at his objective at all?_ , his smile turning cold. “Now that  _that_ has been taken care of. Will you hand me your help, men and weapons, to attack the Sirens?”

All of the remaining leaders nodded immediately, the Street Demons gang nodded as a whole.

Jeremiah’s smile turned almost warm, and maybe that was the payment for a pact with the Devil, the warmth of _a being so clearly above them all_.

* * *

“Why did you shoot that man? You didn’t have to.” Bruce said, keeping his voice down, now that they were back to the stronghold near the Church, as their(were those followers theirs or just Jeremiah’s?) people prepared to march to the Demon’s Lounge. 

Jeremiah sighed, as he took off his coat – _that coat_ , white still stained in red, the color now fading into a dark-reddish stain. (Bruce had hated the fact that he had decided to wore it again, ‘ _It’s to scare them, Bruce. So that those superstitious brutes believe I've really returned from the grave_ ’ even with that explanation, Bruce had hated it.). “I had to, Bruce.” he said as he adjusted his jacket, the metallic purple-blue fabric shimmering under the light as he did so. “I can’t have someone doubting me, and I can’t let them go unpunished. All these people follow me half out of belief and half in fear, if I’m too merciful, those that follow fear will turn against me.” 

And while Bruce didn’t accept murder, he had to admit that Jeremiah’s explanation made sense. All of the gangs that weren’t part of the Church followed Jeremiah only out of the fear of him that they had.  _Hell, they had answered the call of the Church’s bells only because they were afraid of him enough that they didn’t want to leave any chances to anger him in the slim, if right, possibility that he was still alive_ .

But taking away the fear, they’d turn against Jeremiah and the Church without any after-thought. Like they had turned against the ones they had ‘ swore loyalty’ to, the exact moment they heard the Church’s summoning.

Bruce sighed. “Still, I can’t say I agree with that.” he said. 

Jeremiah smiled, soft and warm and sweet. “I’ll be glad to just have your understanding then, my dear.” 

Bruce felt his lips stretch into a small smile at that.  _Maybe with time he could get Jeremiah to see things his way._ He let his eyes fell on the  _coat_ again  and the smile faded. “Do you intend to wear  _that_ during the attack too?” he asked

“Truth be told, I was thinking to. I’d love to see the bi- uhm, the Cat’s face once I turned up with that showing her she failed…” a pause, Jeremiah took a few steps towards him taking his hands in his own. “But I see it pains you, so I wont.” 

“Thank you, ‘Miah” Bruce said with a smile, leaning forward to give the other a chaste peck on the lips, Jeremiah made a little content hum. 

“Anything for you, my Angel.” he whispered, his words so utterly sincere that filled Bruce with a warm indistinct feeling that he couldn’t comprehend what it exactly was but wanted to feel it again.  
  
Bruce leaned in for another kiss, maybe just a little less of a grateful peck and something more like the kiss they shared in his dream.

“Uhm, Boss?” 

Bruce almost jumped back in hearing Ecco’s voice, blushing in being seen so close to Jeremiah, about to kiss him. 

Jeremiah’s expression turned irritated at being interrupted for a moment, before softening again.

“Yes, my dear Ecco?” he asked turning towards her, Ecco was the only other person Jeremiah looked at, even when she was in the same room as Bruce, his hands still holding Bruce’s.

“We are ready.” 

Jeremiah’s smile turned into a self-satisfied, half-dark smirk. “ Let’s go then, my dears. We have a school of Sirens to gut.” 

Bruce had to contain a cold shiver at that.

* * *

Selina hadn’t been able to enjoy the celebration for that bastard’s death, even when she was the one everyone congratulated and complimented. Not even with the booze and the dancing. 

Even if they had had a discussion, she had half-expected Bruce to be there. If not to celebrate, as she couldn't see Bruce celebrating anyone’s death, not even that prick’s, at least for her.

But he hadn’t come, what was worse was that he had disappeared for three days now.

Alfred has searched for him high and low in the Green and Dark Zone, going as far as he could, but Bruce was nowhere. And while Selina knew that Bruce was capable of defending himself, she was worried that his ‘no kill’ rule had made him incur into trouble.

The far, faded sound of the Church’s bells resounded once again in the night. This was the second time she had heard it, the first had been a few days ago, at first she, and the rest of the Sirens had been worried. 

But the rings were always four, and four rings of a Church’s bell were always used for funerals and stuff, so they had dismissed it as Jeremiah’s crazy zealots organizing a wake and a funeral to their mortal god.

Selina huffed once again, she really couldn’t see what the hell did those idiots see in that bastard. There was nothing godly in him, nothing otherworldly, it had taken her only short of thirteen stabs to kill him. A ‘god’ wouldn’t die with that, but Jeremiah had.  
He had fallen, light leaving his creepy, strange eyes.

Yeah, Bruce had stopped her from cutting his throat or stab him there too, like Jerome had been killed once. But she didn’t care that much as Jeremiah died anyways.

The bells sound faded into silent night.

_ Where was Bruce?  _

_ Certainly he hadn’t gone back to the Tunnel for some misplaced feeling of guilt… _

She frowned, the string of thought lost as she heard a faint sound –since Ivy’s cure her senses were better, sharper– like motorcycles, a lot of them. 

“We are gonna have company soon” she yelled from the second floor of the bar, where she had been.

“Uh? What do you hear, Selina?” 

“Motorcycles, a hell of a lot of them.” 

Barbara scoffed even as she armed herself. “The Street Demons?”  
  
“Well unless they’ve got an army as we weren’t watching I don’t think so.” she answered.  
  
Silence fell in the bar, and all the Sirens started arming themselves, ready to take on whoever tried to invade their turf.

The infernal roar of the motorcycles stopped in front of the bar, Barbara made a gesture for her people to ready themselves but not to shoot, as she neared the doors. “What do you want?” she asked from the door. “If you are here to attack know that you’ll have a hail of bullets rain down on you.” 

_No answers._

Barbara frowned, and cocked her gun. 

“You have until three to answer my question, or we’ll open fire.” 

_ Silence. _

.

Barbara gestured to her people to start point the guns, from the tinted windows they could only see a lot, a lot of people still mounting on their motorcycles, waiting for what she didn’t know, but they were waiting, calmly. Too disciplined to be the gangs she had had problems with in the last few days.

.

Selina looked through the windows too. _There was something wrong… but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Something was making her feel on edge…_

.

Then it happened, smoke filled the bar, though she couldn’t see the origin of.

They hadn’t even heard the sound of a smoke  granate hitting the floor, and before she could even talk a bone-chilling low laugh filled the air.

_ Quite a recognizable one, too.  _

_But that couldn’t be she had killed the son of a bitch._

_ He was dead! _

“' _What do we want?_ '” repeated the man that should have been dead, shrouded in smoke and as such not exactly an easy target. “Well, simple. I want all of you, _dead_.”

His voice dipped suddenly, almost a low animal growl filled with anger.

The smoke started dissipating.

“I killed you once, freak! I’ll do it again” She yelled, running through the smoke. Wanting to stab the bastard again and again and again, and gut him… make sure that the bastard was really dead this time.

As she did this, what could only be defined as chaos exploded around them, Jeremiah’s followers that had surrounded the building, mounted off their bikes and started running towards them using the smoke and confusion at their advantage. Entering from all sides, unafraid.

As that happened in the midst of chaos, and shooting, and yelling –the latter done by the Sirens, Jeremiah’s followers were eerily silent as they attacked–, Selina continued searching for the freak. 

_She couldn’t see him, she couldn’t- there!_

A shimmer of purple-blue, she followed it, whip and knife ready. The bastard wasn’t going to survive her again. Jumping on the second floor, where less fighting and shooting was happening, Selina followed Jeremiah.  And then here he was, his back to her.

She smirked and snapped her whip. It took her a moment to realize that something was wrong.

That ‘Jeremiah’ was taller than usual, and that his hair weren’t forest green but raven black and curly and… familiar.

She tugged on the whip. And…

Her eyes widened, pulling on her whip, dressed in Jeremiah’s purple-blue sparkling coat was… _Bruce_.

“Bruce?” she said in surprise. 

Bruce lowered his gaze, and pulled one last time on the whip, managing to make her lose her grip on it as she was too shocked.

“Selina, you’ve to go away.” he said.

“What?”  


“Go! ‘Miah… _Jeremiah_ promised that he’ll let you go if you don’t join in the fight.” he said, looking almost small with that pleading look in his blue eyes. 

“He… what? You’re… You are working with him?!” 

She dashed to him, trying to grab him by the arm, he avoided her move.

  
“I’m…” he sighed, his eyes never going away from her, though it was clear that he couldn’t ignore what was happening just a floor under. “Sort of… _look_ , Selina...I… I just can’t lose him.”

_ Had… had she heard what she thought she had heard? _

“ _You can’t lose him_?” she repeated incredulous, betrayal and anger filling her chest corrosive as acid. “He shot me, Bruce! He tried to kill me and you are siding with him?!” She dashed again this time wanting to… she didn’t know, _block Bruce? Scratch him with her steel claws till he hurt like she was?_

“And you almost killed him, you got your revenge.” Bruce said, avoiding her dash once again the coat billowing like a shimmering cloak.

“So, _what_ , you think me and him are even now?! Seriously? Bruce, are you even hearing yourself?”

“Selina, please, listen to me. Go away! I don’t want you to be hurt.” he pleaded once again.

“And what? Should I leave my friends to be killed by god freak and his freak zealots? Never.”  


Bruce ran towards her, vaulting over her with a jump, Selina whipped around, not knowing what Bruce wanted to do. Surely he wouldn’t hurt her, surely…  _He had sided with Jeremiah Valeska, he had disappeared for three days, probably with the freak… or… maybe he had been kidnapped. Maybe… Maybe Jeremiah had him hypnotized so that he could live his little, sick love story_ .

“Jeremiah isn’t a freak.” he all but growled to her. “Listen I’m not here to discuss this with you, just go, Selina go.”  


“Told ya, Bruce, I’m not gonna leave my friends.” She said, she and Bruce circling around each other waiting for the other to do the first move, the fight had grown louder, and she could swear to have heard Ecco’s high pitched laugh mixed with Jeremiah’s bone-chilling chuckle in the midst of the booming of the shots fired and the hit of punches. She was going to continue to say: ‘this includes you’ and then add something about the god freak. 

“Your friends?! Those are your friends? People that put you in danger? That are not even trying to see were the hell you are?!” he yelled in frustration cutting her off “Those are your friends?! Do you even know how much it took me to convince Jeremiah to let you go?! He wants you dead, rightfully so b-”

“Rightfully so?” a dash, he avoided her claws once again “You think he is right?! What the hell did he do to you?!” 

“Nothing,”he tried to grab her arm, she freed it easily from his grip. 

Selina laughed almost mocking. “Yeah, nothing, sure. That’s why you were gone for three days, ‘cause the bastard did nothing to you.”  


“You can believe me or not. But I’m honest when I say he didn’t hurt me.” 

A shot, Selina heard a familiar voice yell and tried to dash from the second floor, this time Bruce managed to block her, using her own momentum against her to push her against a wall, her arm twisted behind her back.

“Please, Selina. Just… leave. I don’t want to have to choose between you and him.”

Selina pushed against him, trying to wriggle free of his grip. A bitter laugh leaving her mouth. “Not that it would be a difficult choice now, would it? You’d choose…  _him_ .” she spit that last word. 

“Selina…-” 

She didn’t let him say anything more throwing her head backwards, he stumbled hissing in pain, his grip lessening. Selina freed herself  and grabbed Bruce, who didn’t give her much resistance, as the hit had confused him quite a bit.

And pulled him with her as she jumped back to the first floor.

Making sure that he fell right, she didn’t want to kill him, not even if he was a filthy betrayer, just knock him out. 

Her eyes meet Jeremiah’s who was in the midst of the fight, Bruce’s leather black coat covering his shoulders almost like an actual cloak.

She smirked.

Bruce got knocked out as she wanted, though she was pretty sure that it looked way, way worse from the freak’s point of view.

As Jeremiah’s expression contorted in pure, homicidal rage, her smirk disappeared.

_ She shouldn’t have done this. _

.

.

.

As Bruce started waking up, the first things he realized were that his head and nose hurt like hell, together with basically everything else though he was pretty sure nothing was broken. 

The second was the gentle rocking motion, and the soft almost silent sobs.  
The tears falling on his face.

He opened his eyes, if barely, Jeremiah was there, he was hugging him to his chest. He was…  _crying?_

“… ‘Miah?” he managed to whisper.

Jeremiah’s almost silent sobs stopped. 

“Bruce?” he asked almost fearful, he would have looked angelic with the softness that was in his eyes in that moment if it wasn’t for the blood splattered on his face and neck, not his… Bruce didn’t see any wound that could have caused that.

He nodded, a hiss of pain leaving his lips as he did so, but he tried to give Jeremiah a smile.

Jeremiah hugged him a little tighter, though delicate, hiding his face against his neck, staining the collar of his own coat with blood.  
“You are alive. Oh, my sweet angel, my dear Bruce, I… I thought… I…” Jeremiah muttered, his voice almost completely muted against the heavy fabric of the coat. That were soon followed by mutterings of _‘I can’t lose you_ ’s and ‘ _you are mine_ ’s. 

In the warmth of Jeremiah’s arms, feeling too much pain to stay awake much longer Bruce lost consciousness once again.

* * *

Jim watched into the distance, what had once been the Demon’s Lounge, the Sirens’ insignias that were being taken down by Jeremiah’s followers. 

The attack to the Sirens’ turf had been successful, too many people had attacked overwhelming with numbers the much more armed and capable women that had made up the Sirens’ gang. 

The survivors were few, Barbara and Selina between them, most of them hurt in either gunfire or knife fights, Barbara had been grazed by a bullet on her right shoulder, Selina on the other hand, Selina... her arms looked like she had put them down a waste disposal drain and activated it, it was a miracle that none of those cuts had touched anything too important.  
And for once that girl wasn't putting up a front, scared, terrified. She didn't want to say who had done that.  


And from what he had heard from the survivors, Jeremiah Valeska was back and what was worse was that Bruce was by his side.  _What had that monster done to him?_  
  
How could he have… managed to change him in just three days? 

Jim looked away from the ex-Demon’s Lounge now just an extension of the Holy Grounds, one that was way too close to the Green Zone for Jim’s liking.

_ He should have done better. _

_ Searched more. _

Instead… he had done nothing, too sure that Bruce could be able to get away from any trouble he may have met.

As his eyes, involutarily fell, again, on the ex-Sirens’ turf, he remembered something, that Oswald once told him: “You’d better hope Wayne keeps it together, Jim. Because if he  _ ever _ snaps, he and Jeremiah Valeska will make quite the power couple, one that I, frankly, don’t think you’d be able to beat”;  _and despite all odds Jeremiah had somehow managed to make Bruce snap._

And Jim could only hope Oswald was wrong about him not being able to stop them.


	7. The Price of Dreams  (Monday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah takes care of Bruce during his recovery from the fall, meanwhile Jervis Tetch comes to the new exclave of the Holy Grounds to ask something in return for the favor he had done to him.

“Are you telling me that you let our only doctor to get killed in the attack?” Jeremiah asked, his voice low and artificially calm, the only reason he hadn’t already got rid of this sad excuse of a man, was because Bruce was not even three feet from them, and he didn’t want to wake his darling up. Not now, he needed all the rest he could get after what the bitch did to him.

“He… He got caught in the cross-fire-”

Jeremiah raised his hand, putting a stop to the pitiful excuses that were probably about to come rushing out of that useless being’s mouth. “I don’t care if you did your best. It wasn’t enough. And now we don’t have a doctor that can take care of my darling Angel.” he hissed, making a conscious effort to keep his voice down, anger and worry creeping in his chest like insidious vines, that coiled around his heart and lungs every time a pained sound, no matter how little, left his darling’s lips.

The man, Jeremiah had practically forgotten about as soon as his eyes fell back on Bruce, paled at his hiss, blabbering something about ‘mercy’ and ‘a way to find his redemption’, all things that Jeremiah couldn’t bring himself to care about as another pained huff left Bruce.

“Find another doctor then. And if they aren’t _ours_ , kidnap them. I don’t care how, I want them here, now. So go.” he ordered to the man, without even looking at him.

As soon as his disappointing follower, that had better return with a doctor in tow, left the room – which was the apartment  above the bar that had been the Sirens’ head home– , Jeremiah returned to his dear, hoping that his  presence could soothe him at least a bit.

“It’s alright, darling. I’m here.” he whispered, taking, gently, one of Bruce’s hands in his, as he sat on the edge of the bed, near but not to much to his darling so to not accidentally move him. 

_He’ll make the bitch pay_ , he promised to himself.  _He’ll_ _make her pay, pay for every little second Bruce passed in pain. He’ll make her feel every ounce of what his Angel was feeling, multiplied to infinity._

_ He’ll have the bitch cry and writhe and beg. He’ll do more than just shatter her spine, he’ll break every bone in her body, once, twice and then again and again till nothing was left to heal. _

_ He’ll cut her flesh, break her ribs and spine and neck, rip her heart out- _

“’Miah?” 

Jeremiah was brought back to reality by his darling dearest voice, any and every thought of violence fleeting his mind though remaining, if well hidden under all the worry, and the sudden rush of calm that hearing Bruce’s voice brought onto him.

“I’m here, Bruce.” he answered. Bruce looked at him with his stormy blue eyes, now they looked more gray than anything, dulled out by the pain, Jeremiah sincerely hoped that his followers would find a doctor fast, even if they had to kidnap Dr. Thompkins from the Clinic in the Green Zone, he didn’t care. All those people could die for all he cared, the only important thing was for his Bruce to be well again.

Bruce gave him a little smile, since the ‘dreams’ Bruce smiled at him more, and nothing made Jeremiah happier than that… well maybe having Bruce smile at him like that when there was no pain in his eyes or hidden behind that smile of his. Then his smile faded in a worried expression. 

“Jeremiah?”  
  
“Yes, Bruce?”

“Did…” Bruce paused, less because of the pain that hopefully was lessening as time passed and more out of hesitance, Jeremiah could tell it was hesitance. He knew his darling too well, to let something like this pass unnoticed. “Did you… Is Selina okay?”   
  
For just a single moment Jeremiah almost saw red, in seeing Bruce still care for the bitch that had hurt him this much. But he managed to rein that in, to not let his anger speak for him. Biting down on the cutting words that were threatening to spill from his lips, hissing and angry as famished snakes.

Jeremiah nodded. “The… Cat got away” _not before I gave her a little ‘knife treatment’_ , he added mentally to that answer. 

He saw Bruce, minutely, relax at that as if he really had been worried that the bitch had been killed, Jeremiah didn’t like that, didn’t like that at all. But he understood that that was part of Bruce, his darling had a too pure, big heart, and he forgave too quickly. It was one of the things Jeremiah found charming of his darling Angel, but at the same time it was sometimes a bit of an inconvenience like now. Like all the times Bruce cared about those people that didn’t love nor cared for him as much as he did for them.

“How… are you feeling, Bruce?” he asked

“Like I got run over by a truck… though I don’t think that’s what happened…”

“You don’t remember what happened, Bruce?”

Bruce shook his head a little, “Just me trying to convince Selina to go away…”

Suddenly Jeremiah found himself having to stop himself from smiling.  _Oh, that street rat had just served him the way to take her away from his Bruce’s treasured dears._

“She tried to kill you.” He said, letting a little of the real anger he felt slip in his voice. Bruce’s eyes widened in shock and he started saying that: ‘it wasn’t possible’; that ‘Selina would never…’; “But she did, Bruce. Luckily she failed… I… I don’t know what I would have done if she had… _succeeded_.” and he didn’t even had to fake the tremble in his voice at the thought of having lost his darling.

The sole thought of Bruce lying dead, his beautiful eyes forever empty, never again looking at him; the image of what he had saw… 

The bitch jumping off the second floor,  dragging Bruce with her. His darling caped in shimmering blue,  _his_ coat on  _his_ Bruce, crashing against the floor. Not a sound leaving him. Remaining still, still as death. The bitch staring at him with a self- satisfied smile, like taking Bruce from him was the best thing she had ever done.

Rage, and loss, and fiery, never-ending need to destroy everything till all was ash and rubble for having taken his heart from him soared once again. Jeremiah didn’t even realize to have started shaking from the tension of stopping his body from acting out from his thoughts, till he noticed the worried and preoccupied look Bruce was sending him.

He took a deep, deep breath, taking all the rage and all the thirst for destruction and burying it down, down, down in his thoughts till he felt like he could think clearly once again.

“Jeremiah… are you _okay_?” 

“I.. It’s fine, Bruce. I should be the one asking you, after all she pushed you down for a certain height.” 

Bruce  stayed silent for a moment, then one more. Trying to not refuse again the possibility that the bitch had done what she had done.

“I’m not… all that fine, but I’m almost sure nothing is broken, at least.” he said then.

“I’ll have a doctor visit you. When my followers manage to bring them here.”

Bruce opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted, luckily for everyone that someone was Ecco, so Jeremiah didn’t get… particularly irritated by the interruption. What irritated him was the reason for the interruption.

Apparently the Mad Hatter had decided to cash back his favor. So Jeremiah had to meet the man. 

Hopefully this time he wouldn’t talk in rhymes too much, it always irked him the wrong way when he did.

Leaving Ecco with Bruce, Jeremiah descended from the apartment to the bar, where some of his followers were still taking out the Sirens’ insignas and taking inventory of what they had got out of this conquest. A hell of a lot of bullets apparently was the answer, together with some more weapons other than well the new space that came with having annexed another part of the Dark Zone.

The Mad Hatter was there too, waiting for him.

“Mr. Valeska, my friend, I’m here for the favor that to you I have lent”

_It was to much to hope that he wouldn’t rhyme now, wasn’t it?_ Jeremiah thought with a bit of irritation.

“I already knew that, Mr. Tetch.” Jeremiah answered, “Forgive me for my… lack of hospitality but as you can well see we are still getting adjusted in this new place.” he added for good measure, just so that Tetch didn’t notice how out of sort he was, this man had been an ally of his brother, and Jeremiah knew that no matter how civil he was, he kind of hated him for having taken Jerome’s place.

In fact Jeremiah was sure that Tetch had helped only to get a favor he could ask from him at any time. Luckily Jeremiah had thought of some terms for their accord, so that Jervis couldn’t do much to him. Though with his hypnotic powers things were always left mostly to how much Tetch regarded being civil with him instead of having his  _fun_ … 

Jervis smiled, in that way of his that almost made Jeremiah feel ill at ease in his presence, how Jerome liked him was anyone’s guess.

“There is no need, I’m here just for the payment of my deed.” 

“And what would that be, Mr. Tetch?” he asked, feeling a bit uneasy to the fact that Bruce was so close now, what would have happened is Jervis said something about why he owed him a favor, if Bruce heard… _He didn’t want him to hear it._

_ To know that his ‘dreams’ hadn’t been ‘dreams’ at all but careful created interaction, where Bruce was kept hazy by  some mild sedatives and Tetch’s hypnosis.  _

_ He couldn’t let Bruce discover the truth, not now. Not when he finally had him.  _

_ Losing him again… would be horrible, too horrible to even contemplate. _

“Don’t fret, my friend. I wont ask for anything lavish.” Jervis answered, luckily seemingly not noticing how worried he was. “Just a partition of land for a new Wonderland to establish.”

Jeremiah calmed down slightly at that. That request was very feasible, he could give Tetch a little piece of his dominion, it would take nothing from his influence sphere, he had already enough territory (though he was thinking to keep taking more).

“This I can do. Do you have anything in mind?”

“There is plenty of space, for me and men, near the old Chemical Ace”

Jeremiah nodded. “Well, it can be yours. I expect you wont hinder my plans after that, am I right, Mr. Tetch?” 

“You are, Mr. Valeska.”

“Well, then we have an accord.”

Tetch smiled. “ The Price of Dreams wasn’t all that grave. Was it, my friend? I hope it all will be worth in the end.”

Jeremiah sent a cold look to the other, who didn’t appear intimidated in the least. 

“It will”

_ And he was sure of it.  _

_ It would be worth. It will all be worth. _

_ Now Bruce was here, by his side as he was meant to be. _

_ And if Jeremiah had any saying to it, so it would remain. _

_. _

_. _

_ Forever _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end of Dream of me(Till we meet again) but don't worry, I'll soon post the second part of this three part series. Second part that will be titled: _Obsession, Devotion and Everything in between_
> 
> (Writing Tetch was... a trip and a half... I hate writing in rhymes... though I hope you'll like them)


End file.
